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Friday 7 December 2012

The Shoes

Her Cinderella shoes,
had tiny, black suede straps.
Her dress, full-skirted, midnight-blue, set off
the marquisate which sparkled at her neck.
Fragrant in Soir de Paris,
she seemed an angel to my childish eyes.

After her death, I wore her French lace stole
and glassy shoes.  Gained compliments.
It was never the same.

© Gill Dunstan
All rights reserved

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